Dave and Kim's Adventures

Monday, May 20, 2019

Riding Tuscany April 2019

April 7-8 Transit

After a mere 26 hours in transit, we walked through the doors of the Hotel I Ginepri located in Tuscany on the Mediterranean Coast absolutely rung out, grungy and totally starving.

The flight from Las Vegas on Condor Airlines had been interesting. First of all, Condor had approximately 2” less leg room between the seats, so stretching out was not an option. Secondly, with a strong German economy and strong Euro, the airplane was packed full of a group of hearty gamblers who had just finished enjoying the sins of Vegas. Lastly, the airline set a new low in providing the worst inflight meal in history, which is a considerable accomplishment, considering that airlines have been striving for this prestigious award for decades and decades. Condors rigatoni had the texture of mush and was sprinkled with one of two small globs of unseasoned stewed tomatoes. A dried out, rock hard roll and mystery cake were added to this impressive tray of misery.

Thanks to Kim’s wise purchase of new neck pillows at Costco, we actually were able to sleep for much of the overnight, 11 hour flight to Frankfurt. I would estimate that we each had about six hours of intermittent slumber, which is amazing, considering that we were packed into the jet like sardines.

When we finally landed in Florence, we found that Condor had lost both Alice’s and Dean’s luggage. It took more than an hour for the airport authorities to get the paperwork filled out, which seemed more than a little pathetic, considering that they were helping a grand total of four people.

Our next challenge came with our attempt to buy a subway/tram ticket from a machine adjacent to the tracks outside the airport. We would put in our credit card and hit all of the right buttons indicating where we wanted to go. No cigar. It would spell out bad news in Italian, indicating that the transaction failed. We must have fought with the machine, trying different credit cards, swearing at it, threatening to kick it and nothing would work. Finally, after Ted had already gotten on a car and went off to God only knows where, and I had stupidly disappeared from the gang while trying to find another machine, Alice got it to work and we were on our way to the central city train depot.

By some small miracle, in our mentally fragile state, Alice was able to secure our tickets for the next part of our adventure, the train trip from Florence to Donoratico. Our good fortune continued when Kim had somehow been able to email the hotel and they had a 40 Euro taxi waiting to take us the five miles to the hotel.

We walked through the doors at 12:30 A.M. to find that the wait staff in the restaurant was ready for us. Kim, in her email, had asked for something for dinner, as we were starving, and they made sure that we didn’t go to bed hungry. Pietro and Sandra, with smiles on their faces, brought us all much needed beers, and then arrived at our table with giant platters of prosciutto, cheese and bread. I loved those two Italians right from the get go! They would work hard to make out stay at the Hotel I Ginepri a wonderful experience.

April 9 Donoratico (biked 39 miles)

Kim and I rolled out of bed and had breakfast a mere six hours after our heads had hit the pillows. Honestly, we really didn’t feel that terrible. Yes, we were somewhat brain dead and moving in slow motion, but it wasn’t an awful case of jet lag.

We put together our Bike Fridays with the supervision of the Ivins Four, and then rode into town to the bike shop, where I had to purchase a new water bottle cage for my bike. After a few stumbling attempts to get the routes working properly on our Ride with GPS app, we took off to ride route one from our hotel. It had been a long time since I had used the app, so I couldn’t remember how to do small things like turn up the volume and and end the ride I had accidentally started in North America. Therefore, my cell phone thought I had ridden my bike to Italy from Ivins, Utah, and it couldn’t tell me where to turn, because the volume was all the way down. The situation was really frustrating, since I had to take my phone out every couple of miles to check our progress and look for directions. Thankfully, Darlene, who is not really a biker, taught me how to use the app that night at Happy Hour.

The actual ride was incredible. The course took us on narrow country roads with minimal traffic. The area was a vibrantly green, with flowers blooming everywhere. We pedaled by endless vineyards, all with large signs advertising their wines, and rows and rows of olive trees, which were being pruned back after the long winter. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. It was about 65 degrees, there wasn’t a wisp of wind, the sun was shining and get this, the asphalt wasn’t chip sealed. Had I died and gone to bike Heaven?

As we rode on, it was easy to see that we weren’t the only ones who thought it was a good idea to ride Tuscany in the Spring. We met bike after bike, mostly small groups on high priced carbon wonders dressed in flashy team kits. We were told later that most of the riders came from German bike clubs and that there were a few professional teams that trained in the region. It was easy to see that biking was a very big deal in the Donoratico region.

Our first dinner at Hotel I Ginepri was a two hour, four course delight with fish as the main entree. Again, I had to pinch myself to make sure that I hadn’t died and gone to Heaven. It was that good.

April 10 Donoratico (biked 37 miles)

Kim and I repeated route one with our twelve friends, losing three of the gang, Gene, Nancy and Diane almost immediately at the junction to Castagneto Carducci. It was easy to see that we had independent thinkers and that everyone was comfortable doing their own thing. Eric broke off from the group to do the traditional route one course, while the rest of the gang voted to do the alternative. A few miles later, Ted, Alice, Chiska and Dean left us to look for a famous Tour de France rider in one of the small villages. Bill, when we finally met the lost riders on our way home, made the decision to go have lunch in cute walled village of Bolghari, leaving only Kim, Darlene and I from the original group at the end of the ride. We powered back down the mostly downhill course back to the hotel with visions of gelato dancing around in our minds. It was to become a daily ritual. Ride hard all day long and celebrate with a large cup of gelato at the conclusion. Cherry vanilla was to become my favorite, with strawberry also an important friend. It really was the perfect way to celebrate another fine day in Tuscany.

Even though the weather man had predicted an 80% chance of rain, we didn’t get a drop on us. That was some kind of luck!

After a rousing good time at Happy Hour, with people going out of their way to mix with others, we again sat down for our Tuscan meal. We started by ingesting a large bowl of pasta with seafood. Our next course was a mixed salad, after which came a piece of of veal covered in tangy cream sauce. The final course was dessert, a chocolate covered vanilla ice cream cupcake that really wasn’t ice cream but wasn’t cake either. Nevertheless, it was mouth watering delicious. And get this….. I don’t even like chocolate.

April 11 Donoratico (biked 50 miles)

The travel God of Jet Lag finally caught up to me, tricking my body into thinking that it was still in Utah and that I should be up and at ‘em. My heart race through the long hours I laid in my bed, tossing and turning, wildly trashing around, wondering if slumber would ever come. Finally, when our alarm went off at 7:30 A.M., I calculated that I had had three to four hours sleep tops, which was a poor way to start the day.

Again, the weather man was all about doom and gloom, predicting an 80% chance of rain. Would we have the same good luck as we did with yesterday’s dismal forecast?

Our morning was stunning, as we rode up the mountain pass by the small village of Castagneto Carducci, and moved into a more alpine setting, with the hillsides covered with a mix of conifers and deciduous trees. Wild flowers were blooming in the ditches. Occasionally, we would come up to small openings, where we would clamp down on our brakes to stop and look off into the distance. Our eyes reveled at vistas of distant villages built into the rolling hills. Small plumes of smoke could be seen, as farmers burned the branches from pruned olive trees. Rarely would we encounter a car, and when we did, they would slow and only pass us when they could provide ample room. It was perfect.

All of this changed when we rolled into the gorgeous little village of Monteverdi Marittimo, where we could see a band of rain headed our way. Ted suggested we take a short cut, which entailed a sharp descent into the valley below. We had no more than started down this road when the sky absolutely opened up, totally drenching us in seconds. To make matters worse, the soaked brake pads on our nearly 30 pound Fridays didn’t exactly bite into the walls of our wheels. I was squeezing down on my brake levers with everything I had, as we rolled down the 11% grade that featured hair pin turns and long drop offs, but I couldn’t really stop my bike. It took everything that I had to simply slow it down so I wouldn’t go over the edge. It was scary, damned scary, to say the least. When I finally found my way to the bottom, which probably took no more than 10 minutes, but seemed like eternity, my hands ached from braking so hard. Kim arrived a few minutes later, half shaken, as she had experienced the same frightening situation.

Within a few minutes, the deluge had passed and we were once again on the road, enjoying the wonders of riding Tuscany. We came upon a huge green pasture, featuring a wall of singular, coniferous trees, with all branches carefully pruned off for the first 20-30 feet, leaving only a neatly trimmed body of vegetation at the top of each tree. It looked so cool, so Italian. But why would the farmer go to such efforts? Was there a practical reason for this?

We finally caught up to Dean and Chiska, who we had lost while riding through the Donoratico street fair, in the village of Suvereto, where we had stopped to enjoy an espresso and a pastry. After exploring the old town, we set off up the road to Sassetta, finding an absolutely exquisite climb over the mountain range. There were no cars, the grade was as gentle as a new born kitten and the turns at the switch backs were wide and sweeping. Dean, Kim and I slowly spun our way to the top, engaged in conversation the whole way. Not once was I breathless. It couldn’t have been more pleasant.

I returned to the hotel absolutely giddy. I couldn’t believe this place. It was paradise for a road bike. In some circumstances the deluge would have dampened my mood and ruined the ride, but in Tuscany it made the adventure all that much more memorable.

April 12 Donoratico (biked 51 miles)

Day four of our Tuscany adventure was riding through a small city, climbing two mountain passes and rolling through a large agricultural plain filed with avocado plants, vineyards and olive trees.

The first element of the ride entailed riding SP39, which is a frontage road next to Interstate one. We had worried about heavy traffic and hair raising close calls, but found the road ride experience to border on being pleasant.

Soon we had taken a left on SP20, a quiet, narrow road meandering into the mountains. As we climbed through pine forests and by flowering crab apple trees, small villages appeared and quickly receded in our rear view mirrors.

I was surprised when the course dropped out of the mountains onto a huge flat plain, which was filled with fields of avocado, wheat, olive trees and vineyards. I loved this part of the ride, was there was zero traffic, the warm sun was beating down on my skin and the roads were smooth and straight as an arrow.

All of the good feeling, my love affair with Tuscany, evaporated a few minutes later. We had agreed to alter the day’s route at our Happy Hour the night before, returning to our hotel via the mountain pass through Sassetta. Therefore, when we came to a junction in the road, Ted and I, who were in front of our pack of riders, took a sharp left towards Suvereto, thinking of yesterday’s coffee shop, where we knew there was a hot espresso and croissant waiting for us. Unfortunately, Kim, Alice, Chiska and Dean opted to follow the route course instructions provided by our Ride with GPS app, which instructed them to turn right towards Monteverdi Marittimo. I didn’t look back, pounding my pedals in an effort to catch the streaking Ted. Within minutes we were in Suvereto, standing at an intersection waiting for our buddies. We waited. Then we waited. Then we waited nervously. I reversed course, riding the three kilometers back to the junction, where I was certain I would find my riding pals. No one there.

Ted and I agreed that we have a coffee and pastry, thinking our friends were sure to show up any minute. They didn’t.

As we rolled out of Suvereto huge black clouds drifted over us, sending a jolt of fear through my body. You see, I had Kim’s rain coat and rain pants in my panniers. She was going to get wet and cold very, very soon. At first, a fine mist of rain dampened our bodies, just enough to cool us down and make the climb to the mountain pass more pleasant. However, after we had put on our rain coats in Sassetta, the sky once again opened up, totally drenching us. Ted took off like a bolt of lightning, worried about the rest of the group. I watched his bright red BMC smoke around the first corner and didn’t see him again until Castagneto Carducci, where we walked the slick, steep, cobblestoned streets looking for our comrades. We finally gave up, heading for the hotel, knowing that we were sure to be pummeled by our wives.

Amazingly, we pulled into the Hotel I Ginepri three minutes after our spouses. Thankfully, Dean had saved the day by giving Kim his rain coat, riding through the deluge in his light wind coat. He is a wonderful man to have made such a sacrifice.

April 13 Donoratico (biked 51 miles)

Although I continue to love Tuscany, I must admit that I hit the wall today. The riding wears a man down, with its continual climbs and descents through out the day. My 27 pound Bike Friday works well in the mountains, but is really an overall inferior machine for the job of climbing. It does not compare to my 17 pound Trek Domane.

Our ride, a 51 mile, 3500 feet of elevation gain delight, seemed to drain the last bit of gas from my tank. When we hit the junction where you could go to the cute, little, walled city of Bolgheri, where they were having a vintage bike event, or return home to our hotel, Kim and I, with Alice accompanying us, bolted for a hot shower, a rejuvenating nap and a large cup of gelato.

Dinner is always a treat at the hotel. Pietro or Sandra arbitrarily place the menu selection sheets from the previous evening on the table indicating where we should sit. Therefore, we tended to sit in different places each night and have different table partners to converse with, which was fun. The long table was always lively with conversation and laughter. I pitied the poor people who had to share the dining room with us. They did not have a quiet, serene environment for their meal.

April 14 Donoratico

With the forecast calling for violent afternoon thunderstorms, we opted to take the day off from riding. It was the right call.

Ted and Dean are really into vintage Italian bikes, so they suggested we take a taxi to attend a big bike event in the village of Bolgheri. We slowly ambled around the tiny walled village for over three hours, waiting for the first bikes to come in. It was cold, windy and overcast, so the pleasure factor was minimal. Finally, just as the weather really started to deteriorate, the bike racers started to cross a very informal finish line (they had to get off their bikes and go into a building to tell the sponsors that they had finished). We saw old steel Colongos, Bianchis and other obscure Italian brands from the 1960’s and 1970’s. The riders, wearing vintage wool jerseys and shorts, using pedals that featured old fashioned baskets, were totally into the event. I was amazed that their clothes were in such good shape, as it had to have been at least 30-40 years old. Some of the women pedaled old fashioned one speeds with large baskets in front. They wore dresses and heels from decades long past.

With the rain pouring down on us and a cold, blustery wind blowing, we called our taxi to return to the hotel. Just as we were about to turn onto SP39, the driver pulled abruptly to side of the road and we were able to watch a high powered sanctioned bike race of 19-23 year olds. First the police escort rolled around the corner, followed by the peloton of 50-100 riders screaming up the road in a tight pack. They were followed by the team cars and ambulance. It was so very exciting to see this 45 seconds of action and we were all hooting and hollering in the large taxi van.

After our rainy, cold day, the sun burst out in the late afternoon, giving Kim and I a chance to walk the endless beach in front of the hotel. I was easy to see that this area would be totally different in the middle of summer, as it was bordered by an endless string of hotels and beach concessions. Thousands of tourists would be playing in the waves and laying on loungers in the sunshine. As we strolled along, sharing the sand with a handful of other walkers, we looked out at Elba Island, where Napoleon had been exiled after his defeat at Waterloo.

The Happy Hour was held on the hotel’s back deck overlooking the sea. With the warm sun beating down on me, and a fine Italian pilsner in my hand, my world seemed to be absolutely perfect.

April 15 Donoratico (biked 43 miles)

Kim and I rode alone today, fighting a brisk head wind as we climbed up SP329 past Castagneto Carducci. Even so, it was one of my favorite days in Italy. The sun was out, the flowers were in full bloom and the traffic was minimal.

A person sees a lot more cyclists than cars in the mountains of Tuscany. I would estimate that during an average ride you meet hundreds of riders, all decked out in team jerseys and riding in packs on expensive carbon bikes. As our stay progressed, we tended to see more and more riders. I think that many of them had planned extended cycling vacations built around the Easter holiday.

The highlight of the day came as I pulled around a couple of mountain bikers and passed them. Within seconds a friendly Austrian by the name of Ranier had caught up to me, wanting to chat about the locations advertised on my Pedal Tour’s jersey. We stopped and soon I met his wife, Veronica. Before we separated, he told us that we needed to go to Mucci, a famous Italian cheese and bacon shop, in Monteverdi Marittimo.

We took off and slowly worked our way up the five mile climb into the village. Just as we walking towards a village map to find Mucci, I heard Rainer call my name. They had taken a short cut to the village, beating us by minutes. Soon we were in the tiny, cave like store, tasting a variety of cheeses, bacons and wine. The extremely colorful, over the top, animated Italian butcher was worth the price of admission. We ended up buying 13 Euros of cheese and sausages, which would have cost about half that in the states. However, it was well worth the expense, as the visit to the store was a rich cultural experience, on par with going to the opera in Venice.

Our perfect biking day was capped off by a stiff tail wind all of the way home. At times I was pedaling at 16-18 mph while going uphill. How often does that happen?

April 16 Donoratico (biked 45 miles)

I really don’t know if it’s possible, but today’s ride exceeded all others as the premier pedal in Tuscany. Sure we had done many of the roads on previous days, but when we roared down the mountain road from Monteverdi Marittimo, a series of sweeping turns, and found ourselves looking at Canneto, possibly the region’s prettiest village, I had to pinch myself to make sure it was real. More flowers were blooming, the birds were singing louder and everything was greener. Even my heavy Pocket Rocket seemed more lively and responsive, almost electrified at times. It was a very memorable, very special day on the planet.

Upon our return to Hotel I Ginepri, Kim and I were sitting in the sun room enjoying our daily dose of gelato. We were dreading getting back on our bikes and riding the 15 mile round trip journey to San Vincenzo to purchase our train tickets to Germany. After all, we were hot, sweaty and tired from our 45 mile, 2800 foot elevation gain ride. The saddle sores on my butt were just starting to speak to me in unkind terms. The kindest, most special three words uttered during our trip came out of the mouth of our buddy, Nancy Hoefling. She exclaimed, “I’ll take you!” Soon we were loaded up in Nancy’s rental car and on the interstate headed to the travel agent, where we secured our tickets within a few minutes time. As we rolled back down the highway to our hotel, I was so thankful that I wasn’t on my bike, hammering against the 15 mph headwind. Nancy had saved the day, provided one of the most thoughtful, kind acts in years. I love Nancy!

April 17 Donoratico (biked 50 miles)

I can’t believe that our Tuscany ride is coming to an end. I have ridden eight days and covered 370 miles. Yet, I feel fresh and excited about getting back on my bike each morning.

The best climb in the world may lay between the villages of Suvereto and Sassetta. The grade is gentle, probably about 3%, and the turns are easy to navigate that one never really has to strain while ascending. It is the only eight mile, 1200 foot climb that I’ve ever done where my heart hasn’t jetted or that I haven’t been gasping for air by the time I’ve hit the top. The road is so special that races are held up there for the small, very expensive Italian sports cars. Bundled old tires, painted white, have been attached to the guard rails, in case the drivers miscalculate and miss their turn while cornering.

April 18 Donoratico (biked 33 miles)

Kim and I repeated ride one as our last ride. It was pleasant and we both said that we had enjoyed it, but were really ready to move onto other adventures. Tuscany had been great, but it was time to pack up our bikes and head north to Germany.

Everything had changed during our brief stay in Tuscany. There were more cyclists on the road, as we now continually ran into large groups of Germans riding in pelotons, and sadly, the car traffic had also increased, as we saw more and more Easter tourists driving up our typically vacant roads looking for vineyards where they could do a wine tasting. Even the hotel had changed. We were no longer the only residents. The staff had worked hard to put out hundreds of chairs on the beach in front of the hotel, and we had to wait in line for our turn to use the coffee machine at breakfast. A slow trickle of tourists had invaded our hotel, using our dining room, eating up our favorite flavors of gelato. It just wasn’t right!

From my perspective, we had timed our visit perfectly. The weather had been acceptable, not too much rain nor heat, and the bulk of tourism hadn’t really started yet. We had owned the place. I think a few weeks later would have given us a totally different experience.

Our last dinner was great, but I must admit that i was ready to eat somewhere else, downgrading to a large piece of meat with a side of greasy potatoes. I had had enough of the four course Tuscan delights.

We made a huge fuss over the staff after our meal, giving them a standing ovation and generous tips. I had loved Sandra, who had served us both breakfast and dinner during our stay. I will always remember her asking in her colorful Italian, “Omo-let-teaa con-case-oh?” Pietro, who spoke English well, was so friendly, so helpful. He had left the dining room to work on getting ready for the influx of Spring tourists, but was still willing to stop and visit with us. I will never forget how they had stayed up to serve us after midnight on the night of our arrival. They had made our stay special.

Our group of 14 individuals had been exceptional. No one had ever become testy or tried to set an agenda, even though there were many afternoons when we returned to the hotel exhausted. People stayed happy, fun loving and generous, often sharing food and beverage at our Happy Hours. It was one of our best group cycling tours ever. No doubt about it.

The beach by our hotel.

Our hotel.

A typical road in Tuscany.

Riding into Bolgheri.

Living the dream!

Road art in Tuscany.

A typical meal at our hotel.

Another heavenly dessert at Hotel I Ginepri.

A couple of the vintage cyclists at the Bolgheri Festival.

I was in bliss riding the hills of Tuscany.

The crazed, very animated butcher at Mucci.

Kim and some road side flowers.

A harbor on one of our rides.

Poppies and one mean Friday.

Wyoming rodeo action in Italy?

One of our coffee stops.

Our reward each day.

Riding the Danube April 2019

April 19 Regensburg

It was a very, very long day in transit. We left our Donoratico hotel at 9:15 am and didn’t get to our Regensburg lodging until 12:30 am.

After a long wait in the Bologna train station, we crawled into our first class compartment for a long, beautiful ride through the Alps. I was very sleepy, nodding off occasionally, but the visuals out the window seemed to energize me. It was jagged, snow covered peaks, the famous fingers of the Dolomites, tiny alpine villages surrounding grand cathedrals, and miles and miles of vineyards and hop fields. It was all very beautiful.

Our Italian rail train was running four minutes behind schedule, so using the conductor’s best advice, Kim and I literally sprinted through the Munich train station to our next train. We hopped out of our car at platform 11. Huge backpacks were strapped to our backs. Pulling our massive Samsonite suitcases holding the Bike Fridays and hand carrying our fully loaded day packs, we took off at a dead run. In and out of traffic we darted, running by strolling Germans, nervously wondering if we’d make our connection. When we pulled up to platform 26 and I had loaded all of our gear into our compartment, I looked down at my watch. We still had 15 minutes to burn. We had played the part of O.J. Simpson running through the airport for nothing. Oh well…..

Our midnight dinner was kabobs at a Turkish shop in the old town district. It was actually good to wolf down fast food after our four course Italian wonders. I savored every drop of my mediocre Munich lager. It was the perfect way to end a very long day in Europe.

April 20 Regensburg (walked 4 miles)

I must admit that I am not a city person. Here I was in a beautiful, well kept, medieval city, looking at magnificent cathedrals and other colorful, ancient structures, and all I could think about was how much I hated it.

The old city, which is a collection of narrow, curving alleyways, crisscrossing in all directions was teeming with people. It was Easter weekend, about 70 degrees and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Every person in their right mind was out enjoying the weather, and Regensburg, with its beautiful old city, was the perfect spot to slowly wander about, enjoy lunch in an outdoor cafe and window shop its exclusive shops. As a general rule, these Germans, a collection of physically attractive and stylish people, were seemingly everywhere that I wanted to be all day long. If I were trying to cross the old stone bridge, which was the first bridge constructed over the Danube, they were in front of me walking slowly. If I wanted to stop to read my city map, they were about to run me down with their bikes, which were wildly zigging and zagging through the pedestrian zones. No matter where or what, I had an intense feeling of claustrophobia all day long.

It didn’t help that the twisting and turning streets of the old town totally threw off my internal navigation system. The compass in my brain was so compromised that I thought the Danube was flowing north at one point. I hated to admit to Kim that I was hopelessly lost all day long and totally reliant on her to get me back to the hotel.

We went to the Hofbrau House for our first Bavarian meal in over 30 years. I couldn’t wait, having fond memories of eating my way across Germany as a younger man. I was sad that I couldn’t have a real beer with my meal, due to the restrictions put on my alcohol intake by Dr. Julie, but the meal, a monster serving of pork in a rich brown gravy coupled with a softball sized dumpling, was excellent. Kim and I were amazed that it was served with a salad drenched in the old fashioned vinegar and cream dressing, which was a favorite made by both of our mothers in our childhood.

One day of ambling the streets, playing the part of the conventional American tourist, was more than enough for both of us. We were ready to get on our bikes and head down the trail.

April 21 Deggendorf (biked 56 miles)

Thank God we had walked the bike route out of the city the day before. Without this trial run, I’m sure that we would still be riding around in circles in the old town, desperately searching for a way to leave the city.

The actual ride was beautiful. Once again, we had hit the lottery on the weather, about 80 degrees, blue skies and no wind, and the visuals along our Danube route were quite pleasing to the eye. The region actually reminded me of Spring in North Dakota’s Red River Valley. First of all, it was totally flat. We rolled by endless wheat fields, which were frequently lined by wind breaks of large deciduous trees. The river, off to our right, seemed to be the recreational focus of the day. Families lined the bank, barbecuing, drinking beer and fishing. About every five miles we would come to a small village built around a huge cathedral, which had a steeple that we could see miles away. The streets of these small towns were lined with neat as a pin, white stucco, red shuttered houses, all featuring beautiful yards full of blooming tulips and other flowers.

We rode a mixture of excellent bike path, vacant country roads and shitty, single track paths perched on top of dikes overlooking the river. Thankfully, the majority of our miles were on the silky smooth pavement of the paths and roads.

The only negative of the day came in Deggendorf, a small city located on the river. As we pedaled away from the river, we were essentially riding blind, not knowing where we were going since our Ride with GPS app was useless here. To add fuel to the fire, we couldn’t use Google Maps on our cell phone, as we had no data plan for Europe. Therefore, we had to do things the old fashioned way. We stopped people and asked for directions and advice.

We pulled into Deggendorf thinking that it was going to be easy to get a room. Wrong! It was Easter Sunday and every room had been sold at the motel we had planned staying at, so we went limping down the street looking for an alternative that the lady at the desk had recommended. Unfortunately, that hotel was totally out of business. We ended up riding back to the city center, where I was lucky to find a room for only 95 Euros in a four star hotel, Hotel Hottl Gastof. The room was quite small, but the shower worked well, the bed was comfortable and most importantly, they had a great restaurant that served us an excellent dinner and breakfast.

We couldn’t believe our good fortune when we wandered down stairs to look for a restaurant. Within a few seconds, we were seated in the hotel’s beer garden, sipping a fine German lager out of a liter and a half stein. A few minutes later our dinner arrived; another roasted pork sensation smothered in gravy and served with sliced dumplings. We capped off our celebration of the first day on the road by finishing off a large piece of apple strudel with ice cream. Little did we know that this was going to be one of our best meals of the entire trip. The whole dining experience was a great reward for a long, hot day in the saddle.

April 22 Passau (biked 38 miles)

It was a beautiful day; the birds were singing and Germany was vibrantly green and blooming everywhere. However, the Monday after Easter is a national holiday, which meant the bike path was absolutely mobbed with people. I didn’t like it.

The course itself is challenging, as it weaves through villages, skirts small towns and is constantly twisting and turning. Sometimes it is wide as a road, because it is on the road, while at others there was hardly room for two bikes to pass each other.

You add several thousand bikers to the mix and you get congestion and a feeling of entrapment. I spent this day constantly riding around slower riders, frequently having to pass them quickly because oncoming traffic was coming in the other lane. I felt like an out of control wild man at times, but the alternative, riding in back of them at nine miles an hour was out of the question. It often became very frustrating, because this mass of humanity made Kim even more conservative, slowing down to a crawl. Ultimately, I would have to wait up for her, which would mean that the folks that I just passed were passing me. Sadly, this went on all day long. It was very, very frustrating.

Passau is a beautiful little tourist town located where three tributaries of the Danube meet to make a much bigger river. It has a massive cathedral that is the focus for tourists who visit the community, much like Notre Dame in Paris. The tourists that crawl off the cruise boats each day follow around behind their guide, who speaks into a microphone that is beamed to each cruiser’s headphones.

After eating our delicious rib dinner at the local rathskeller, we wandered the mostly vacant streets, as the cruise boats had all departed for the day. A few hours before and it would have been total, pure tourist HELL.

Kim won the first game in our European Gin Rummy Championships. Damn.

April 23 Aschach (biked 41 miles)

It was extremely windy, gusting 20-30 mph, with dark, gray skies looming above us. However, it was my favorite day of riding on the Danube, headwinds and all. First of all, the holiday crowds had evaporated, leaving only a handful of people, mostly families, struggling up the trail.

The topography had also changed dramatically. Instead of riding the Great Plains of North Dakota, we had settled into a narrow, twisting canyon, where the steep river walls climbed several hundred feet above us. We now rode through villages with lumber mills and ran into an occasional logging truck.

Another bonus was the trail improved greatly. Once we entered Austria, it was like entering a different world, as we no longer had a million turns, nor did we ride on the country roads or have sections of gravel. It was a smooth, wide, very straight bike path. We could have put our bikes on autopilot and allowed them to navigate the course. It was that easy.

Thankfully we booked a room in Aschach, a cute little village of Easter egg colored buildings located on the river. Just as we were checking into our room, the temperature was dropping precipitously and the wind speed was increasing. Again, we had lucked out. We were safe inside our room, playing the second round of our gin rummy championships.

Our hotel, the Josepha Hirsch, had been recently remodeled. Our room had a modern, Scandinavian feel. We had a wonderful dinner at the hotel restaurant, Thai chicken in a curry sauce, which broke our string of traditional Bavarian meals. It was a fitting end to a great day on the road.

April 24 Wallsee (biked 51 miles)

We woke up to a blue sky and it was a balmy 61 degrees by the time we started down the road at 9:00 A.M. Initially the trail took us along the south bank of the river. It was wide, the asphalt was a new and I could have counted all of the cyclists that I encountered on one hand. The river valley widened out again, featuring endless grain fields bordered by forested perimeters. Pheasants stood in the fields and deer hunting stands were everywhere. We actually saw two does grazing in a field.

We took a ferry to the north bank to avoid Linz, Austria’s third largest city. Riding through the suburbs on the north bank of the Danube was somewhat challenging, but we were able to find our way through the city with little difficulty. The big difference was that the path was now packed with a steady diet of walkers and bikers.

Austrians are very friendly, helpful people. We were stopped, resting on a bench, when a friendly man rode up to us to offer assistance. He was a wealth of information, telling us more than we really needed or wanted to know. Later, as I was pedaling down the trail, a man obviously slowed down to talk with me. I found out that he owned a factory producing weather sensing devices, and had taken the day off to get outside. He was fun to talk with and I was sorry to see him go, as he left us taking another path to return to his home village.

Since our breakfast hadn’t been all that substantial, we stopped in Enns, Austria’s oldest town, for lunch at an outdoor cafe in their famous square. I had a delicious asparagus, prosciutto wrap, while Kim had a rather pedestrian soup.

A headwind kicked up in the afternoon, but the setting of our ride, a winding road through forests and wheat fields with an occasional village thrown in, made it exceptional. It was so quiet, so rural that we hardly saw other bikers, much less automobiles. It was also the definition of “glowing green.” Frogs bellowed at us as we sped past them.

Our hotel, the Wallseehof, is a classic example of a four star European lodging, in that it featured small, well appointed rooms and beautiful grounds. I found it interesting that the owner, who told us that he owned 13 hotels in Austria, was the only one there to check in guests and later served as the waiter in the restaurant. The man hustled at a near run to take care of all of his guests. Kim and I enjoyed a delightful lamb shank for dinner in the bar, where we chatted with a local teacher and his wife. The meal was excellent and it was fun to interact with the couple.

April 25 Emmersdorf (biked 45 miles)

It was another magnificent morning to be on a bike. We had perfect temperatures, no wind, quiet roads and seemingly endless energy. Even my PMR was somewhat mild, as starting in the morning always brought about a little discomfort in my hands and wrists.

We started the day by riding on country roads surrounded by wheat fields and summer fallow. Our route then took us through a narrow, winding passage bordered by farm land and then returned to the river at Grein, where we opted to follow the north bank through a narrow canyon with no traffic at all. It was pretty, very peaceful and the pedaling was almost effortless over the mostly flat terrain.

At one point we were riding through a farm and I stopped to take a photo of the rustic wood and stone barn. The farmer soon popped out and walked up to us for a visit. Immediately, with the knowledge that we were Americans, he asked about Donald Trzump, and how the millions of Mexicans were invading our country. I don’t think we gave him the answer he was looking for, as we gave Trump a resounding double thumbs down and told him that the Latin Americans were hard working, honorable people who were often doing jobs that Americans refused to do. Nevertheless, we shook hands and left each other with a friendly smile.

After powering into Emmersdorf, where we had a dessert lunch, we rode an additional two miles up to the Melk Abbey. The abbey is one of Austria’s most beautiful, most revered structures. Painted a brilliant dark yellow with white trim, and having elaborate gargoyles protruding from the walls, it is about the size of Versailles. Admission was 29 Euros for a guided tour of the structure, which seemed a little over priced, as all we could see was one floor of one wing of the giant complex and the cathedral. We walked by a few 400-500 year old golden frocks, crowns and manuscripts that had been used by the residents, as our guide offered a brief explanation of each item. As we left the abbey, Kim and I both commented on the opulence of the structure. In the Catholic Counter-Reformation, the church attempted to make life on Earth more heavenly, gilding everything with gold and building the biggest, most impressive cathedrals and religious institutions possible. Melk was the perfect illustration of this, but it seemed to be such a waste, as it only housed a maximum of 120 chosen clergy at its apex. It was obvious that these individuals lived very well, surrounded by great beauty and living in great luxury. The lowly serf, on whose back the structure was built, had very different lives. It seemed so unfair.

April 26 Tulln (biked 49 miles)

We were supposed to be facing 20 mph headwinds, but thankfully the weather man had it totally wrong. It was another exceptional day to cycle along the Danube.

We left our hotel to roll into the beautiful Wacha Valley, one of Austria’s prime wine and apricot producing areas. After a ferry ride to the south bank of the river, we found ourselves on a smooth path with zero people. Worried about the forecasted afternoon wind, we put our heads down and pounded out the miles. After Krems, the trail widened and was straight as an arrow. We were effortlessly screaming towards Tulln at 16-17 mph. I couldn’t believe it. If only bike touring could always be this easy!

We again spent the afternoon playing the part of the conventional American tourist. We visited the much recommended, very renowned Die Garten Tulln, which was a total flop. Nothing was in full bloom, the tulips were marginal at best, and we were both hungry, which made the experience borderline painful.

As we sat down to eat at an outdoor cafe in the city square, the wind suddenly came up, blowing in a whole new sensation, cold temperatures. Within a few minutes, we went from sweating to chilled. I actually left the restaurant to walk two blocks to our hotel to retrieve our warm jackets, as we were freezing. It was good bye to the summer like, sunny days on the river, cycling in only our jerseys and complaining about the heat. Hello to the 60’s!

Even my meal, some sort of pork wonder in an onion gravy, was bad news. It could have hardly sustained an immature field mouse, much less a starving man who had ridden 50 miles that day. To add insult to the injury, it was extremely expensive. Damn.

April 27 Hainburg (biked 55 miles)

We woke up to a totally different world. Instead of worrying about sun screen, we needed to dig deep into our panniers to find our winter jerseys and leg warmers. We started the ride at 53 degrees with a 20 mph northwest wind. Thankfully, we were going southwest, so once we turned onto the bike path, our run away Fridays simply rocketed off towards Vienna at 18-20 mph.

We crossed over to the north bank of the river about 10 miles before the Vienna, using a narrow trail over one of the many dams on the river, which made navigating the city relatively simple. We were somewhat confused in the city’s large public park running along the river, as the trail system divided into three parallel options and we didn’t really know which route to take. Thankfully, after a bit of confusion where we nervously backtracked at one point, we eventually spotted one of our trusty green and white Eurovelo 6 signs indicating that we were still on the route.

Riding through the city park was interesting, as we found thousands of the usual urban bikers, runners, and walkers intermixed with Middle Eastern and African immigrants. It was easy to recognize the immigrants from the Middle East, as the women were dressed very modestly and wearing head scarves. Frequently, they were huddled around picnic tables in large groups, obviously enjoying a sense of community with each other. At one point, I stopped to take a photo of two Middle Eastern men, who were slowly cooking two sheep or goats on spits above charcoal. Even though it wasn’t really a great day to be outdoors, these people had found the park to be their place of refuge where they could meet in large groups.

As we left the city we found ourselves in a large national park that runs along the east bank of the Danube. The government was busy building a new trail system to replace the existing gravel path, so the actual trail was closed. However, since it was Saturday and the workers were not around, Kim and I walked around the barriers of the closed new trail and started riding. It must have been 20 miles of new pavement with a stiff tailwind. Again, we sped along at warp speed, effortlessly screaming through an endless wooded corridor interspersed with grassy meadows. I couldn’t believe our good fortune. It was bliss! Let me say that again, it was pure bliss!

We stayed at Hotel Altes Kloster in Hainburg, which was built as a monastery in the 17th century. Our room was very nice and as a general rule, everything in the hotel had been tastefully renovated to make it a functional, pleasant 21st century building. It was one of our nicer hotels during the trip.

April 28 Narad, Slovakia (biked 50 miles)

We left the bike utopia called Austria and moved into a whole different world called Slovakia. It certainly was a change, as we were no longer on endless, smooth, wide paths, but it wasn’t bad either. In a way, I liked it better, as we had moved away from the bulk of the bike tourists, who had concluded their ride in Vienna.

As we rode out of Hainburg, ascending a hill and pulling out on a trail that cut straight across a large bend in the river, we found ourselves dealing with a nasty 40 mph side wind. It was scary, as I could feel my Friday violently lurch to the side with each vicious gust. I unclipped and pedaled tentatively, hating the feeling of being thrown around like a rag doll. It was by far the most frightening, most unpleasant few minutes of our 2019 European bike tour. By far!

I was very happy to see the city skyline of Bratislava in the distance. A huge white castle stood above the city, and another famous landmark, a saucer shaped structure stood on the top of one tower of the bridge crossing the river, much like a leaning Seattle Space Needle. As we descended into the city we were protected from the wind somewhat, but faced a new quandary. Bratislava had build bike paths everywhere in their central park area and hadn’t really signed the district telling the Eurovelo rider which path led out of town. With our Ride with GPS app seemingly dated and confusing, we struggled to find our way through the city, often riding for a mile or so on new bike paths before the clanging of our app alerted us that we were heading in the wrong direction. After a few wrong turns and several tense conferences over which course to take, we finally stumbled out of the city and onto a path running parallel to the river.

At this point, leaving the protection of the city, the vicious wind returned in spades, with the gusts now blasting us squarely in the middle of our backs, propelling us down the trail at over 20 mph on a dike bordering the reservoir of the dammed up Danube. Sure, the pavement wasn’t always perfect, and we actually had to steer around a few potholes, but the serenity of the ride was wonderful. We were the only human beings out there for miles and miles. At one point we watched a small group of crazed wind surfers rocketing across the choppy waves of the lake, and we did see a few people fighting the elements to walk their dogs, but mostly it was just Kim and Dave with blue skies above us and a big tail wind behind us. We spotted a few small villages in the distance, an occasional barge moving upriver and endless green fields of wheat surrounded by windbreaks. This part of Slovakia was totally flat for as far as the eye could see.

Our hotel, the Pension Platan, was located out in the middle of no where, situated on a quiet farm road in the country side. For the first time on this trip, our waiter did not speak a word of English. I struggled to get a bowl of ice cream, finally resorting to Google Translate to get my afternoon snack. Dinner was interesting, too. We ordered the chef’s special, a massive platter of three different kinds of deep fried meat, accompanied by a mountain of fried potatoes. Not even I could finish it.

I found it interesting watching the workers of the hotel/spa. First of all, there seemed to be more workers than guests, and that their work habits had come from the old days when they lived behind the Iron Curtain. The cook would come out of the kitchen, sit down in the large living room area, fiddle with her cell phone for a bit, and then go back in the kitchen to do her job. The same thing with the maid. She would mop the floor for awhile, then sit down to check her phone. Then it was time for a cigarette break. No one seemed to be killing themselves on the job.

April 29 Patince, Slovakia (biked 44 miles)

It was one of our most interesting days of the trip. We awoke to a cold rain, so had a very leisurely breakfast before saddling up around 10:30 A.M. under very dreary, windy conditions.

At first, it was more of the same. We rode the first ten miles of the day on a vacant, asphalt bike path adjacent to the river bank. Then, like a bad nightmare, the path turned to gravel. At first it was nice gravel, mostly packed with few large stones. A few miles later, it was like the government of Slovakia had wanted to punish us. It had chosen a person who had never biked a day of his life to maintain the path, and this stupid person had dumped 2-3 inches of loose half inch gravel on top of the path. It was impossible to ride your bike through it, as you would fish tail wildly to the left and right, fighting to keep your bike upright. It gave you the feeling of riding a bronc at the county fair. The only alternative was to ride a narrow, packed single track path at the very edge of the dike. It would have been fine for a mile or two, but this went on and on and on. It was a very long, very slow trip through bicycling HELL.

The next big shock came at Kormano, a mid sized city. The government was putting in a new traffic circle and bridge, so the path had been closed, and we were forced to ride out in traffic on a busy highway heading into the city. We were both a bit nervous about doing this, but the local drivers gave us ample room when they passed.

Kormano, it was easy to see, was all mixed up and didn’t know what it wanted to be. As we rolled into the central city, we found a pedestrian mall of high priced shops and what appeared to be trendy restaurants. As we walked down this closed off street looking for a snack, we found nearly everything closed and only one other human being, a stylish woman pushing a baby carriage. After devouring a kabob at a local shop on the main drag, we pushed our bikes down the sidewalk of this busy little city. Off to our sides were huge Soviet style apartment complexes. Some were quite run down and grim looking, while others had been freshly painted, modernized and actually had a bit of character. The next thing I noticed was the large casino-strip clubs. They had pictures of smiling, scantily clad, young women holding up handfuls of Euros. I’m sure that they were for Hungarian and Austrian male tourists, who weren’t in Kormano for the museums, cathedrals or castles. I left Kormano with the feeling that it was a depressing and somewhat desperate place.

Thankfully, after we had nervously navigated the very busy streets in getting out of the city, we found ourselves on a brand new bike path for the last ten miles of our day. It was just the medicine we needed to calm our frayed nerves.

Our hotel for the night, the Patince Wellness Hotel, is the perfect example of remodeled Soviet architecture and social engineering. It was all very nice and everything was adequate, but you sensed that it still suffered a bit of a Stalinist hangover. I think it must have been a worker’s paradise under the old system, a vacation wonderland for the masses. In 2019, it seemed to attract a plethora of Slovakian blue collar workers and older retirees, who seemed to be generally overweight and unhealthy. They shouldn’t have been wearing their speedos and bikinis, anyway.

The whole complex seemed illogical to me. In order to enter the pool area, every one had to put a room key into a turnstile, which let you go down a long hallway to a huge locker room, which was used by both men and women. Then you were funneled through to a large changing room, where you had to search to find the exit to the pools. When I finally found my way through this industrial sized maze, I walked out to find an absolutely mammoth collection of pools. I was so excited, as the day had been on the cooler side and my aching muscles were in need of soaking in some thermal water. As I walked into the large jacuzzi pool, I was absolutely stunned to find that the water was only about 75 degrees. Sure the jacuzzi pool had jets that could have blown a boat out of the water, but it was cold. It just seemed so Soviet Union, in that everything was huge and done on a scale to meet the needs of thousands, but they had forgotten the small things, like hot water. Kim and I, very disappointed, quickly crawled out of it and made our way to the soaking pool, thinking that it had to be hotter. Wrong!

Breakfast at the hotel further reinforced our feelings about Slovakia. At least 100 tourists were herded into a small dining room for a buffet of tepid eggs, sliced lunch meat and bread. As I was waiting in line to use the one coffee machine, which spits out everything from espresso to cappuccinos, a lady in back of me rudely pushed me forward and then reached through me to get her tea bags and tea pot. There was no saying, “Excuse me, pardon me.” When I returned to my table, I thought about her rudeness, her aggression. She had probably spent most of her life standing in lines in the old Soviet style economy, and when you only got one chicken per month, you probably pushed, shoved and fought to hold your position. Being polite and taking your turn did not exist.

April 30 Vac, Hungary (biked 53 miles)

It was another dark and cloudy day. We were looking at afternoon showers starting at 1:00 P.M., so we were more than a little apprehensive when we hopped on our bikes in the morning. I must say that even though this was our tenth straight day of biking, Kim and I were still loving it. During past bike tours this has not always been the case.

It was almost predictable that Slovakia would provide another challenge before it sent us on our way. Again, we were faced with another trail closure, and once again forced to ride the two lane highway with no shoulder into Sturovo. We fumbled about a bit in the actual city, but then crossed the international bridge into Esztergom, Hungary. The basilica complex on the Hungarian bank of the river was absolutely stunning. We walked the bridge in order to take it all in at a much slower pace, stopping several times to take more and more photos.

Even though they were both under Soviet dominance for decades, Hungary feels different than Slovakia. It seems more vibrant, more dynamic and a wealthier society. The people you would meet on the street also seemed to be happier and more outgoing. As is typical in bike touring, we were lost a few times during the day and the Hungarians we met along the trail really tried hard to help us.

For the first time, our Ride with GPS app totally failed us. It had us turn down a rutted, rock strewn road and ride down to the river’s bank, where we found a dead end. Kim actually got caught up in the brambles at one point. As we stood there pondering our situation, it had instructed us to ride through a wall of vegetation to a ferry port a few miles away, “Twilight Zone” music started to play in my mind. I started to look for a gang of thieves to jump out from behind the trees to attack us, relieving us of our panniers full of dirty clothes. Kim and I quickly agreed that our app had gone haywire, and backed out of there in a hurry, riding down the road to a nearby old folks home, where we caused quite a stir when I walked through the doors. It was obvious that they didn’t see foreigners dressed in spandex often. Even though no one spoke any English there, I got the message across that we were lost and looking for a way to cross the river. Two younger women went out of their way to help us, indicating that we would have to ride the highway for another 20 miles into a small city, where we would find a bridge to cross the river.

Thankfully, as we left the home and continued on our journey, we found the turn to the ferry port less than a mile down the road. We had a 50 minute wait for the ferry, so I bought a $4.00 Snickers bar and a Coke for each of us to enjoy as we sat picnicking on the grass, waiting for the boat to arrive.

It was good to find a bike path on the other side, as we had been riding a narrow highway out of Esztergom. Unfortunately, it was a lot like the highway we had just left. It was narrow, rough, potholed and had more patchwork than original asphalt. Nevertheless, it was peaceful and we didn’t have to worry about cars rolling past us at 65 mph.

As we rode on, a sense of accomplishment and excitement seemed to set in. We were now so close to Budapest that we could taste it.

When we finally pulled into Vac, a small town located about 20 miles from the city, we were again faced with finding our lodging. I stopped a nice man on the trail, who had a smattering of English. He must have spent 20 minutes with us, calling his wife, looking for the address on his cell phone and stopping other walkers to assist us. At one point, we were surrounded by a 66 year old Polish long distance rider, who couldn’t speak either English or Hungarian but wanted to help us, the nice man and one of his high school students, who was fluent in English. It took awhile, but eventually we had a plan to find our bed for the night.

We finally found the street of our hotel and were wandering past some absolutely decrepit facades of buildings. Just as I had turned around to look for our address, a friendly man came out of a doorway asking, “David? Are you David?”

Estevan was incredible. He welcomed us with a refreshing glass of fruit juice and showed us to our suite, an ancient three room apartment decorated with all of your grandmother’s 1950’s vintage furnishings and art work. The Fonagy es Walter Vendes - es Borhaz was beyond unique. It was special.

After a quick shower, we went out for dinner. I was very excited to be eating Hungarian food, so immediately lobbied Kim for the house specialty for two, thinking that I would dining on some exotic meat and vegetable mixture spiced with paprika and other magical wonders. Unfortunately, the waitress brought us an absolute mountain of meat and potatoes. Kim actually picked at her food, having overdosed on meat for the last ten days. I gorged myself on the massive platter, being starved, but had to admit to my wife that I was tired of eating red meat, too.

Upon return to our hotel, Estevan met us at the door and insisted that we accompany him to his wine cellar to help pick out a bottle of wine. After finishing a large glass of wine while engaging in very interesting conversation, he then insisted that we have a night cap to insure our slumber. He brought out a bottle of Schnapps and poured a dram for each of us. Could this trip have been any better? Could people be any nicer? No way!

May 1 Budapest (biked 25 miles)

We were foolishly overconfident that riding into Budapest would be as easy as taking candy from a baby. We soon found out that the baby had sharp teeth and a nasty right upper cut.

At first it as more of the same - a crappy, narrow bike path twisting and turning through the trees along the river. However, unlike the day before when we owned the path, we met a million bike riders escaping Budapest. Unlike Slovakia, which had some nice paths and no local riders, the Hungarians obviously love to ride and will not be deterred by small things like awful riding conditions.

When we finally made it into the city our bike path evaporated into thin air. We tried walking dirt paths along the river and riding through neighborhoods. Ultimately, we had to pull on our big boy and big girl pants, and get out and ride the streets. They were incredibly busy, but not one car was unkind to us. Thankfully, another path popped up a few miles later, which linked to a bike lane. Ultimately, we were able to use a network of bike lanes and paths to work our way into the central city.

When we pulled off the bridge onto Margitsziget Island it was like having a million pounds lifted from our shoulders. After riding with traffic, being surrounded by the din of the city and struggling to find our way through a major metropolitan area, we found ourselves in a beautiful green space where very few cars were allowed. Yes, we were still surrounded by thousands of tourists, it was May Day, a worker’s holiday in Hungary, but it didn’t matter. It seemed like we had found the most peaceful place on Earth.

The island is Budapest’s Central Park. It is a gorgeous collection of manicured lawns, extravagant flower beds, water features and exercise tracks for runners and walkers.

We booked our room at the Danubius Health Spa Resort, our nicest lodging for the trip. We almost immediately went to the soak in the thermal baths, which were actually quite pleasant. It was a stark contrast to our experience in Slovakia.

Typically, I’m not a fan of the buffet dinner, as I’m prone to over eating and feeling miserable afterwards. However, the buffet at the Grand Hotel next door was exceptional. The food, mostly flavorful Hungarian delights, was outstanding. Kim and I also valued the atmosphere of the large dining room, as a five piece Gypsy band played for us. It was the first time in my life when a buffet felt like a fine dining experience.

Our bike ride was officially over. We had ridden from Regensburg to Budapest, a total of 507 miles in 11 days. We had been lost, hot and thirsty and nearly blown off our bikes. We had ridden through a mine field of gravel, had to dodge potholes and ride on busy highways. After it was all over, Kim and I agreed that it had been one of our best rides ever. The Danube on a bike is simply a wonderful experience. It isn’t the most beautiful place on Earth, but the small villages, the unique cultures and in some places, the incredible riding conditions, put it into a league of its own.

May 2 Budapest (walked 5 miles)

It actually felt odd to do something beyond biking on to the next town. We were to spend the day playing the part of the conventional American tourist wandering the streets of a beautiful European city. It felt very unnatural to me.

After a very long and leisurely breakfast, we power walked three miles, as we were running late, to a city square for a walking tour of the city. Our Hungarian guide was funny, personable and interesting. He walked us through roughly 2 1/2 miles of Budapest, showing us the most beautiful cathedrals, buildings and bridges in the city. We ended at a beautiful walled enclosure overlooking Buda, which featured a gorgeous church and huge statue a prominent king. The view of the city from this Pest complex was fabulous. It really was something to see.

I felt rung out after the day of milling about the city, actually much more tired than on any of our bike riding days, so the thermal baths seemed like a perfect therapy. We soaked for nearly an hour and a half, leaving the baths looking like shriveled prunes.

We again loved the buffet, with the Hungarian mutton soup making my taste buds do cartwheels with every spoonful. The host had seated us close to the band, so it was no surprise when the Gypsy violinist played a long song for Kim and I. It was really a very special experience.

May 3 Regensburg

Our string of good luck finally came to an end with a loud thud. As usual, we got up to have a leisurely breakfast, drinking a minimum of four cups of coffee and eating three plates of food from the huge breakfast buffet.

We finally checked out, hopped on our bikes and rode through the city towards the Keleti Train Station. Everything seemed to take longer than I had expected, so as the minutes quickly ticked away, I started to become more and more nervous. We stumbled about a bit, losing our way a couple of times, but in the end, all seemed to have gone well, as we arrived at the train station in plenty of time. I even went to the information booth, and after handing the agent our tickets, he confirmed that we were leaving on track ten. Still, something just didn’t seem right, as the departure board had no mention of Munich, which was our first destination, so Kim asked a conductor who was walking by us. He looked at our tickets, looked up at us with a puzzled expression, and shaking his head, told us that we were at the wrong train station.

In a dead panic, we ran out of that train station and quickly secured a taxi. I frantically broke down our Fridays and we threw them into the back of the driver’s small station wagon. Of course, we were in no condition to bargain with the taxi driver, who was a certified ass hole. He told us that it would be a minimum of 30 Euros for the 10-15 minute ride. In 10-12 minutes we were at the correct station, where the driver tried to extort even more money than the immoral 30 Euros that I had handed him. As he stood there pleading with me in Hungarian, with a pathetic look of being treated unfairly, I totally ignored him as I frantically fought to assemble our bikes and push them into the station. Finally, realizing that I wasn’t going to pay him more, he left us, peeling his tires in a fit of rage. We then ran into the station looking up at the board for our train. It said platform nine, which was only a few steps away. As we looked to find our train, all we could see was the vacant space where it had been a few minutes earlier. We were late. It had left on time, right to the second. Damn those Europeans and their punctual train schedules!

We then went into the international ticket office to find a ticket agent who wasn’t above scolding us for being stupid. She, with a look of disbelief, frowned at us and slowly explained in broken English that our 163 Euro tickets were worthless. No, they couldn’t be applied to another train at a later time. No, we couldn’t get a refund. We had blown it. Shaking her head at us, she indicated that we needed to buy new tickets. She spent forever to find a train where we could travel with our bikes, and ultimately needed help from another agent to sell us new tickets for 220 Euros, with our route now going through Vienna. It was like swallowing a bitter, bitter pill, but we had no other options beyond getting back on our bikes for a long ride west.

Kim and I finally left the Budapest station at 11:40 A.M. on a Rail Jet Express, which cruised the tracks at a cool 140 kph. The view out of the train’s window was endless green wheat fields, interspersed with occasional rows of wind turbines and many, many small solar panel farms. We stopped two or three times in small, somewhat bleak looking industrial cities.

We made a panicked departure from the train in a Vienna suburb, as the train only stops for one minute in small stations, and I had to off load two bikes and four panniers in seconds, while at the same time, quickly getting out of the way of the loading passengers. We then deftly navigated the platform to find the elevator, now being veterans at European train stations, and descended to the underground mall to find our new platform. Within 20 minutes we were on our final train of the day to Regensburg, riding through the gorgeous, glowing green hills of Bavaria.

It’s crazy, but it felt like going home to arrive back at our Regensburg hotel, the Hotel Munchner Hof. We even went to the same kabob restaurant as our first night in Germany, with both of us craving fast food over a huge sit down dinner.

It had been a painful, expensive day featuring a big mistake. We were both a little sad and somewhat upset with ourselves, but I thought that we had handled it all well. First of all, we hadn’t fought or blamed each other, or for that matter, dwelt on the money lost. We had quickly moved on from our mistake, making sure that we didn’t make any other errors in our travel to Germany.

In reflection, I think our big error was over confidence. Knowing what we now know, we should have demanded that the desk at our hotel secure a station wagon taxi to the train station. Instead, we attempted to use the hotel’s worthless city map, which wasn’t to scale, in riding across across a major city that we had never experienced before. Also, instead of having that fourth cup of coffee, or eating the third plate of pastries, if we were going to ride to the station, we should have been riding a full hour earlier. We had been way too confident in our abilities to navigate Budapest.

May 4 Regensburg (walked 6 miles)

Even though we really didn’t do anything beyond a two hour, five mile walk, it was a good day. We laid about, reading our books for for hours at a time, waiting out the afternoon rain showers. It was a much needed respite to recharge our thoroughly depleted “tourist” batteries.

Regensburg the second time around was much more pleasant, as the overwhelming Easter crowds were long gone. The old city really is a wonderful collection of old buildings, which have been restored beautifully, and of course, the focal point of the city, the giant cathedral, is absolutely stunning. We also found the city to have been designed around the bicycle. It has bike lanes and paths heading in every direction, many of which we walked. If a person wanted exercise, you certainly could get it in Regensburg.

Germany has changed tremendously in the 30 years since our last visit. When we visited it in the 1990’s, I thought that it was a nice place, but that we had a better standard of living. Now it’s a different story. By simply walking down the street, or going to a restaurant, it’s easy to see that the average German is better dressed, drives a nicer, newer car and has a better lifestyle than your typical American. If this is the awful, terrible socialism that the Republicans are constantly railing against so successfully, we need it. Joe Average German lives a much better life than Joe Average American.

Germany’s per capita income is $51,760 compared to the United State’s $60,200. However, when you think about how Germans have socialized medicine, a minimum of five weeks vacation time and inexpensive college tuition (75 Euros per semester), it appears that they have a significantly better standard of living. Yet, they have many of the same problems we have, but not quite to the same obscene degree. The top 20% of Germans make four times more than the bottom 20%. It is income disparity, but not as pronounced as the United States.

It was also interesting to see how the bicycle is central to their lives. It was a cold, wet day, the skies leaden, but yet we ran into a throng of Germans making their way about the city on cheap, heavy, straight handle bar bikes. Maybe it’s because parking is such an issue in the central city, or that they’re more concerned about exercise. Nevertheless, we watched women in long skirts and stylish boots pedal past us. Kids tore by us in packs, howling with delight as they pulled up their front wheel expertly. Old people slowly pedaled by us with panniers full of groceries or a little dog in their front basket. It was obvious that hundreds of people were using a bicycle to get around the city. One thing that you did not see, however, was obese Germans, and these people drink beer like we drink water. I think exercise must be their salvation.

Regensburg is a University town, so on Saturday night the old town was full of rowdy, drunk students. Some, it was quite obvious, had enjoyed way too much alcohol. It had reminded me of my college days in dear old Missoula. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

May 5 Regensburg (walked 6 miles)

It was another cold, gloomy day in Bavaria, with the “feels like” factor hovering around 40 degrees for most of the day. We had hoped to take a ride out of the city to one of the villages, but couldn’t quite screw up the courage to bundle up and deal with the cold and rain.

At times the day seemed a bit long and tedious, but we made the most out of it with two walks, some long reading sessions and another rousing game of gin rummy.

The highlight of the day was our dinner at a classic Bavarian beer hall, Kneitinger. The beer hall experience was really fun. We were seated at a table for seven with three older German gentlemen, who were there before us. I was impressed that they each finished three pints of beer to our one, and didn’t seem drunk at all. We both had fine meals, with Kim getting rouladen and dumplings, while I enjoyed a monstrous pork hock, dumplings and sour kraut. As we sat there quietly enjoying our meals, the beer hall provided constant entertainment. Groups would erupt in singing, or screaming at the televised soccer match, many were laughing in small groups, and little kids were playing on the floor, as the waitresses, dressed in traditional Bavarian dresses, dodged around them while happily delivering massive steins to the tables. It was a party and the Germans were all about having fun.

April 6 Regensburg (walked 5 miles)

It was more of the same old, same old. We woke up to a beautiful blue skied day, but as the weather man had predicted, it was back to cold and gloomy by noon.

We went to the train station to secure our tickets for Frankfurt and then spent an hour putting our Fridays in the suitcases. I couldn’t believe how well the Friday packing went, as everything fit without having to jump up and down on the suitcases.

We again walked along the river, taking some new paths in an attempt to keep it interesting. The bottom line is that Regensburg is filled with paths and bike lanes.

Possibly the most thought provoking thing that happened during the day was buying a strap from a Syrian store owner. He was exceptionally friendly and visited with us for a long time. He told us that he had escaped the civil war by boat during the height of the exodus. He explained that all he wanted in Germany was a chance to make a living. He didn’t want a handout. He also said that the majority of the German people were very kind and generous, but that there were some who hated him merely for the fact that he was an immigrant and Muslim. He also faulted our government for not interceding in the conflict. He said that he liked Americans but had no use for our government.

April 7 Frankfurt (walked 3 miles)

Damned long, painful day! Enough said.